


Touch

by iloveyoudie



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, Autoerotic Asphyxiation, Fantasizing, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23414464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Morse’s breath held when the length of cord was flipped down past his eyes and under his chin and finally pulled taut against his throat.
Relationships: Max DeBryn & Endeavour Morse, Max DeBryn/Endeavour Morse
Comments: 17
Kudos: 36





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [greenapricot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/gifts).



> For Pri - because the both of us have talked about doing something with this idea many times and this isn't even a fully formed thought in fic form but it'll do for now.
> 
> _We get so tired and lonely_  
>  _We all need a human touch_  
>  _Don't want to give ourselves away too much_  
>  \-- Touch by July Talk

He could feel him there behind him, hear the quiet movement, the slight rustle of the lab coat, the shift of his sleeves and the slide of the improvised ligature slipping through his fingers. Morse could feel the solid warmth press ever so briefly against his back as Max stepped closer and he couldn’t help holding his breath in anticipation of what was coming. Morse heard the gentlest exhale of Max’s breath as he lifted on his toes and his arms raised. Morse’s breath held still when the length of cord was flipped down past his eyes and under his chin and finally pulled taut against his throat.

Around his neck, pulled back and back, the ends of the cord met in Max's hands and twisted tight at the nape of his neck. The doctor should have been stepping back and asking probing questions, should have been talking through the point of this demonstration and how it had a bearing on the case, but he said nothing and Morse felt the hairs raise on his neck and a shiver prickle down his spine from the proximity.

Morse immediately wanted more, wanted it tighter, and as Max’s hands shifted and the cord pressed just a bit harder against his neck, Morse’s mind and body suddenly met in congress as he realised just how aroused it was making him. He swallowed against the pressure, stretched his neck with a sigh, and moved a half an inch back towards Max’s body. The doctor met him there, with a half a step of his own, the solid warmth of him raised just slightly on his toes, stomach to Morse's lower back, and their hips just a hair's breadth from touching.

"Now," Max murmured low as the cord pulled just a sliver tighter. Morse could feel the words brush against his skin, each one a feather-light puff of warm air, "What's the first thing you're going to do?"

Morse's fingers rose to the cord, curled under it, and slid around until they met Max's hand. He caught him there, wrapped his hand around the doctor’s own, and squeezed and tugged a bit harder to show him what he really wanted. He couldn’t help angling his hips backward, nudging his arse back against Max’s body, and Morse hummed with a gentle yet insistent, "Ask for more."

Suddenly it was very unimportant that they were standing in the mortuary. The consequence of someone coming in could be dire, someone seeing them, but that danger only heightened the emotions. All Morse could think about was Max pressed against him and the delicious restriction around his throat. The only conclusion he came to, with all of that in mind, was that this would have to be fast.

In that second, they seemed to share a mind. Max made a very abrupt sound between a growl and a groan, a desperate and frustrated sound, and suddenly the pair of them were all movement. Max backed against the nearest surface, one hand tightened on the cord, and the other circled Morse’s waist to hold him flush to his body. Morse, for his part, inhaled deep against the slowly increasing restriction of his airway and scrabbled his shirt ends out of his trousers so he could grab the doctor’s hand and push it down the front of them.

Everything slipped into a fantastical haze. Details weren’t important. There was no morgue at all, no bodies only feet away, just stainless counters and an edge of danger and discovery. Just Max’s hand wrapped around him and that cord pulling tight-tight-tighter around his neck.

Morse could only pant, demand _‘More’_ and _‘Tighter’_ and curse to the God he didn’t even believe in as he felt Max there behind him, more aroused by the moment, breathing in his ear, whispering encouragement, lips on his neck and teeth against his softest patches of skin. The smell of the man, the feel of him, that skilled hand moving over his cock tight and strong and fast. Morse knew they couldn’t, but he drifted into thoughts of Max bending him over one of these counters, taking him right there, burying inside of him as he choked him still, pulling that cord tight, making him arch and gasp until his breath stopped all together and everything came to a head.

It was getting tighter now. His vision went red and dark and spotted and the burn of his arousal mingled with the oxygen deprivation. The oncoming orgasm fluttered through him in waves, sparks and stars and white edged vision mixing with the slow cut off of air and making his mind simply stop and float away from him. It was an exercise in extremes, a dichotomy of pleasure, his mind finally blank and gone out of itself - the blissful relief of not thinking - and his body with more feeling than it could reasonably handle.

“Max..” Morse gasped as his extremities started to tingle and numb. The was cord bruising, cutting hard into his skin, pressing against his sinew, cutting him off from air. From life. His skin hummed with it. His head swam. And it was Max taking him there, tightening his grip, pushing Morse’s body so far that he couldn’t stand it.

It’s going to mark, he realized, bruise and purple and yellow and it’ll be sore tomorrow under the collar of his shirt. All day he’ll be at work and know just what had happened. And damn if he wouldn’t want more, again, bugger the danger.

And then everything came together again. The bloom of red spots in his vision, the white heat of building orgasm, all suddenly exploding. Morse gasped and choked as he came, the restriction of his throat so tight he couldn’t cry out, and his hips still pumped into the hand, his orgasm still spilled over the fist on his cock, even as his eyes rolled back and he felt his consciousness slipping away. The world had disappeared and turned into only this moment - but it was not the soaring orgasmic whiteness when it all came together - it was an empty and fading darkness.

That cord had been irresponsibly tight. Damaging.

God, but how he’d wanted it.

 _‘Max-’_ He couldn’t even say it, it came as a desperate gasp, and Morse slipped away. His body sagged forward on his small single bed and his fantasy disappeared as fast as he’d built it up. His own dead weight choked him now, held upright only by the necktie he’d attached to the bedframe and used to choke himself. His last fluttering thought was that _he’d_ done this. That it would make a ridiculous end for a ridiculous man and he was only sorry that Max would likely be the one to find him splattered in his own sex and trussed up like some sort of pervert.

His body slumped, his limbs twitched, his fingers trembled and grasped for nothing.

And then the knot slipped.

Morse tumbled to the side, nearly falling out of his bed as he gasped back to life. Oxygen flooded him, his consciousness burst back in spots of color, and his lungs burned as he gulped desperately for air. Everything besides the hasty breathing returned like thick dripping treacle, gentle plops of feeling spread though him, oozing through his extremities and then blossoming in pinpoints of fire like the pain he began to feel throb around his neck.

But reality was the worst bite of all.

Him, alone in his flat, choking himself with a necktie as he fantasized about Max Debryn because he was too much of a coward to simply ask the man for what he wanted. There was something between them, there always had been, and he suspected there always would be, but he couldn’t ask for that. Morse couldn’t expose the depths of his own perversion so easily.

He was wasted now. His heart pounded and his body tingled from the gauntlet he’d put it through, and everything exciting and dangerous about the act had been replaced with a mild vein of anxiety and terror.

He could have killed himself.

Morse knew how stupid he was. He knew there had to be another outlet. He knew that he should have gone to some sort of professional. Was this the sort of thing he could pay for? Christ, no. What was wrong with him? To be truly _known_ would be the cruelest means to an end…

He rubbed his hands along his raw throat and tried to convince himself that he shouldn’t even contemplate doing such a thing again.

But he also knew, deep down in his core, that he couldn't promise himself that he wouldn't.

**Author's Note:**

> This may eventually become a 3 parter? Clearly Max needs to know...
> 
> But maybe not. I will update this listing if that ever happens but this has been finished for a while so I'm letting it go into the world!


End file.
